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As contract work

This is not business
none of this is business
There is no method
to cure oneself

years might run I remain the same

the same treated customer.
Texts turn to monotone, yells turn their heads away. So stand up to greet another new hormonal salvation. Reflects, rambling, senseless movements senseless movements are the walks you took and they took you back to singularity from the alike states; and they've got their borders open and we cross the customs with our presents and pay a drop of blood without sugar starved to coma stares and twinkles make apathetic diseases responsive to whatever comes second there is no answer to what comes first every time definitive fact is not me, not you but the suffering self. Years might run and I'm past the parental beating, rude is under my tongue.

Bericht von Frau Immer

Late day
no one waits for any bus
how come? The sun
is sweet, the street quiet
and dry
I leave and I don't hear the door closing so the mirage of a standing fleshy feeling remains / pendant hands / it comes in gradient circular surfaces this
non numerical rope

the bridge shuts and collapses as the kingdom of the lamb
savory sparks running through the
neural wires
sinewaves so copious, they reach the small ears as well.

Dense time past noon
not a single electron going away
swales
striding swales
months steady
stable routes bite the knuckles of our / pendant hands / I plan my blessings in this uncountable exit this hanging we always glance at amidst its happening
our voices shed
casting castles on our corneas, love
raising the atmosphere over the cloudy minds,

deine
Immer.

#2

Leerraum löscht
die lachende Anschläge
cresc.
decresc.
cresc.
decresc.
cresc.
decresc.
cresc.
decresc.
Leerraum verschlingt
das lachende Ende

spiel und sing
sei vertan
schlaf im
Leerraum
schön

Erysipelas

He blushes when we glance at each other -a really lively Rosenrot
reaching deeper than the shipwreck did breathing comes through rough
an accordion of poverty and the mechanical sound of a massacre
how the skins tear apart how the blood waters the fabrics
ignis sacer a capite ad calcem
will he die of this?

-

Pages made of something heavy, could be lead under malachite green
and the backbone of the book is shattered say from reading up
or left open on the bed sipping from the warm lake of alcohol
this vomit of phenol and formaldehyde was from my heart, I would have told him
if he asked of course how the sores erupt shooting spores and toxic
drops straight at the faces of the infirmières? A finger's touch and they explode
as if the infirmières were in a carnal dream of an educated bore
my insoluble substance of affection
settles down in his head.

-

A vocal sediment of a promised future
epic bouquets distributed? Tell me, he shouted
Indeed. These empty hands now this empty mouth now
they bring the self since the rest is given
what was ever the rest was there ever any? I did
tell him, a wide surface of sunburn reminiscences an inflammation
of sorts shined upon my plead as he offered a nation of postponements
I shouted but my skin tore apart
will I die of this, doctor?

Diseases are getting old

Slow? Slow.
Repeating the self.

Take a step, take another, omit the next, and the ground bolts back
thought the earth waits and thrives with loyalty? It does not.

It has been engraved and sickled for three consecutive summers
keep your threshers in, or you'll lose your hands.

Slow, slow.
Repeating the self.









Repeating the self
slicing the insides when going short of breath...

¿Desacuerdo?

La fealdad esa
tan discreta
casi no sí misma

casi mentir por no decir
falta penosa
el dolor
de quien escribió
de nuevo y además

no se va y también se fue.
Más medicamentos, más efusión para las horas en que no existimos. L'adoración demasiada va a matar nuestras circulaciónes fundidas? Dónde está la sangre? La sangre no fluye fuera de nosotros. Más medicamentos, más efusión y ámame, como un'enfermedad incurable solo tuya, que tienes que convencerla no a matarte, sin descanso, por que tu sabes podía engullirte vivo en cualquier momento. Enfermedades como estas hacen la guerra, al fin y al cabo.
"La fealdad esa-
-no hay fealdad,
sólo ser seguido."
Schrei dies von den Dächern, mi señor.